she uttered them, she was facing the placid-eyed Chinaman and gesticulating in his face.
"Don't you see," Blake at last heard her crying, "he doesn't know what I'm saying! He doesn't understand a word of English!" And then, and then only, it dawned on Blake that every word the woman was uttering was intended for his own ears. She was warning him, and all the while pretending that her words were the impetuous words of anger.
"Watch this man!" he heard her cry. "Don't let him know you 're listening. But remember what I say, remember it. And God help you if you haven't got a gun."
Blake could see her, as in a dream, assailing the Chinaman with her gestures, advancing on him, threatening him, expostulating with him, but all in pantomime. There was something absurd about it, as absurd as a moving-picture film which carries the wrong text.
"He 'll pretend to take you to the man you want," the woman was panting. "That 's what he will say. But it 's a lie. He 'll take
